Page 71 of Murder in Calusa Cove
“Don’t you think that one was a little too easy,” Dawson said. “Not to mention, first, your source sends us to Cole. When that didn’t work, they sent you new intel, leading you to Trent. If you had fact-checked any of that story, you would’ve known Trent was in this station when one of the murders occurred. A man can’t be in two places at once.”
With a shaky hand, Stacey reached into her purse and slid a folded piece of paper across the table. “The tipster told me to call Chloe in the morning. Tell her what I’d learned about Trent and his shack. Then go public.”
“Well,” Buddy said, scooping up the paper. “You’re not going public. Not now. That would be reckless.”
He reached for the door, but Dawson stopped him with a raised hand.
“Not yet,” Dawson said. “We might be able to use her.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Stacey muttered.
“We’re not asking you to like it,” Chloe said, collecting her things. “We’re asking you to do exactly what you’re told.”
Dawson turned to her. “We’ll feed her a new version of the story. Something to throw the killer off, maybe even draw him out—after we see what’s in this shack.”
“I like that,” Buddy said. “But it could be a trap.”
“My source knows you let Trent go.” Stacey slumped back in her chair.
“How do they know that?” Dawson glared.
“I emailed them right when I got here. I saw Trent leaving.” She shook her head. “Because I honestly believed I was speaking to either another Fed, or maybe someone in State, or even another agency, I thought I was doing the right thing. They told me Chloe wasn’t leading the case, and that her presence compromised the investigation. How would they know that if they weren’t a cop?”
Chloe exchanged glances with Dawson. That was a legitimate question. But it wasn’t an impossible answer to find. If someone had called her office and asked for the person heading Violent Crimes, Murders, they wouldn’t get her. They’d get Buddy. And if Chloe had learned anything in these last couple of weeks, it was that the Ring Finger killer was not only smart, he was always five steps ahead.
“I need all your email correspondence with your source, and I need that damn burner phone,” Dawson barked. “And don’t give me lip about needing a court order, because all it will take is a phone call, and the judge will grant it so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
“Fine.” Stacey raised her hands. “But I want an interview?—”
“Do not finish that statement.” Dawson closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting out a long breath. “There’s a room open at the Bed and Breakfast,” he added. “You’ll stay there under watch.”
“I’m not staying there,” Stacey said.
“There’s a killer on the loose, and you’re about to turn on him,” Buddy said. “Your life is in danger. Besides, we need to go over everything you have.”
Dawson opened the door, waving to one of his deputies. “Bring her to my office. Take her cell and any other devices she might have. Start printing emails from her source. Go through the burner phone. Check the number, see if you can triangulate the calls.” After Stacey was led out, he shut the door and leaned against the wall.
Chloe turned to Buddy, a tight coil of dread in her chest. “If this is a trap, it’s a damn good one. Especially if she followed his instructions to the letter. But I don’t know what it’s a trap for. To set up Trent? Or lure us out there?”
“We need eyes on Dewey,” Buddy said.
“I can put Fletcher and Keaton on that. I need one of my deputies here, since I’ve got one drunk idiot in lockup. Remy’s out on patrol, so I can’t send him, not unless something happens, and my other one, well, I can call him in.” Dawson rubbed the back of his neck. “Either Buddy, or I, or both need to deal with Stacey, and keep those now staying at the B&B safe. Who knows what this killer will do next, but my other deputy can take over after I’ve seen what Stacey has.”
“I want to see that, too,” Buddy said. “Maybe we can have her do a broadcast early in the morning, turning the tables on this asshole, if we haven’t caught him by then, because honestly, Dewey Hale possibly being Chloe’s biological father, doesn’t make him a killer. It only gives us a reason to be concerned. Maybe bring him in for questioning. We need more. We need fucking evidence.”
“How about if Hayes and I go out to Trent’s shack now?” Chloe offered. “The killer’s not expecting us until tomorrow, so either we’ll catch him there, or we’ll be able to poke around. If we see something, you all won’t be too far behind, and hopefully, Fletcher or Keaton will have eyes on Dewey by then.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Dawson nodded. “But you two need to check in regularly. No radio silence. Got it?”
Chloe blew out a breath. “I hate the Everglades at night. It reminds me of all those teenage horror flicks.”
Dawson smirked. “The Glades can be beautiful at night.”
“Not when I’m hunting the man who killed my sister and might be my father.”
The shack loomed ahead like a forgotten tomb, half-swallowed by the Everglades. Moss hung in ragged curtains from the rusted tin roof. Cypress roots curled around the foundation like skeletal fingers, and a battered lantern swayed gently in the warm night breeze, creaking like an omen.
Hayes slowed, boots sinking into the soft, wet ground. The only light came from his flashlight and Chloe’s, their twin beams carving through the thick humidity.
